


Revenge is Best Served Stolen

by Beautiful_rhythms



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Jack deserves happiness, Pumpkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_rhythms/pseuds/Beautiful_rhythms
Summary: In the midst of a feud that inhabits a town, there are many profitable things that can be earned with a feud as big as the one centering Rhodes. Money isn't the only thing that can be profitable and Sean MacGuire has a plan in mind to steal a pumpkin for Jack Marston while also dealing some much-deserved revenge to Catharine Braithwaite. As usual, Arthur gets dragged into one of Sean's many schemes.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Revenge is Best Served Stolen

**Author's Note:**

> I had this thought for a while: what if Arthur & Sean stole some pumpkins? I talked about it a bit on my roleplay blog on tumblr (sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins), but I decided to write it out as a fanfiction than have it be a roleplay plot, especially after seeing the camp event of Sean & Jack finding a bunny. I haven’t written full-out fanfiction for a while, so sorry if this sounds a bit weird at times!
> 
> The timeline is a little bit screwy here, as rdr2 takes place before autumn comes into the picture. This is an au, I suppose because I wanted to live out my love for autumn in rdr2 with Arthur & Sean. This incident takes place after "The Fine Joys of Tobacco” once Sean wants to get a bit of payback towards Mrs. Catharine. Why not put his swift hands to use and steal a few pumpkins?

One thing Arthur knew well was whenever Sean’s blue eyes shined with amusement and the corners of his grin lifted, Sean had a plan. One that Arthur would gladly avoid if he wasn’t dragged over by Sena, his accent calling a certain “English” over to a table.

The shade of the tree only provided so much darkness. The shade dulled Sean’s baby blue jacket and turned the crimson red into a deep garnet, the same vibrance of a jewel once the debris was brushed off. But Sean’s eyes, the blue hues still held that brightness that the sun only showed a mere degree of whatever delight Sean felt within.

“Ever carve yourself a pumpkin, Arthur?“ Sean prompted once Arthur heard his call, trudging across the grass, hands merely brushing across the brown leather gun belt. Whatever stance Arthur had or what look shown in his eyes, Sean didn’t pay much attention to it -- he asked Arthur a question and he was willing to hear the answer.

“Never had the time to, I guess. Either Dutch saw no use in it or we never considered it. Why? What you have in mind?“

In response, Sean pursed his lips and raised his brows. Good, this was good, Arthur didn’t brush it off entirely. In fact, the man appeared invested. “Well, I think Jack could do with one. It’s tradition! What child hasn’t carved a pumpkin! You and me, I think we could sneak real easy into the Braithwaite place, steal a few pumpkins and bring ‘em back to camp. Jackaboy won’t know the difference!”

“ You can’t be serious. “ Arthur heaved a sigh, shaking his head and already conjuring up a protest. Sean’s mouth opened, trying his best to persuade Arthur like those men who stand on the corners of Saint Denis, shouting into the crowds, trying to get a customer for whatever they were selling. “ A pumpkin? You want to steal a pumpkin? “

“ Sure it won’t get us money-- but if we steal one, perhaps rob a house on the way back, then we both appease Dutch and Jack. You really want Jack to sit here, listen to us all talk and moan about killin’ and stealin’? The boy deserves some distraction. “ Arthur crossed his arms, listening to Sean trying to sell his case, hand gestures and all, even pressing his knuckles against the gunslinger’s shirt a few times. If Sean had an idea in his head, he wasn’t going to let it go easily, if Arthur wasn’t going to go with them, then who knows what Sean might get himself into. With Arthur as company, he had the reassurance that both he and Sean would make it back in one piece.

With that notion, Arthur agreed but quickly warned that if it was to go back to the Braithwaite -- he would be no better than what Kieran went through weeks ago. Hell, Arthur would even threaten that he would drag him out to the mountains and leave him there himself if Sean was to pull any risky moves. Sean chuckled and his lips cracked a smile.

Trees shed their leaves, letting them gather along the Earth’s surface, covered by dirt and twigs and bracing the gust of wind that traveled down the winding paths. Autumn weather was welcomed by the gang, being the middle ground of chilly where only one extra layer was needed and was deprived of any of the harshness winter brought. The time in the mountains made winter here child's play, but that didn’t mean Dutch preferred it over any other season.

Hooves pressed along the dirt path, the blonde colts being in the lead. Sean’s red locks were tussled by the conditions and the protection of his hat and Arthur’s hair was no better. Both men emerged from the thicket and followed the red, damp dirt that surrounded their feet.

“What made you have this idea in the first place?“ Arthur questioned, his stare locked onto the Irishmen sat beside them. His hands gripped the reins as his gaze quickly shifted to the road with a bored stare. Nothing about Rhodes stood out to Arthur and he concluded both families in the feud were out of their minds in the first place. But, he saw the profit in it and Sean appeared to be more vocal about the matter. 

“I have a heart of gold, Arthur! Like I said, would you rather keep the boy bored with all of you old folk? Seems I’m the only one looking out for the kid!“ Sean replied with perhaps too much enthusiasm, his tone in a higher pitch and from the place of passion -- whatever that was. If Sean wasn’t doing it for Jack, he was doing it to fulfill his boredom, get his hands dirty and damage one side of the feud to support the other. Like Sean, he found the feud utterly useless, madness, but profitable. Both sides were disagreeable, but Grays were easier to deal with than the likes of Catharine Braithwaite. Mrs. Braithwaite became a thorn in his side when he first heard her open her mouth, the woman's voice was enough to Sean that she was going to be a downright annoyance.

Arthur rolled his eyes, pulling back on the reins to a slow trot once the Braithwaite manor loomed in the distance. He scoffed out a chuckle. “Sure.”

Sean sprung up in his seat, his hands finding the arms of the seat. He leaned out of his chair, his finger pointing towards a gardening patch, “Right there! Arthur, look!” Arthur hummed in response as if a mother would towards their excited child, agreeing with their observation. “Look at those beauties, pull in and tell ‘em we were looking for a deal on their crops. Actually, forget it, let me do the talkin’.”

“If you say so.” Arthur turned the wagon down the path, the trees barren of their leaves, showing the number of acres they owned in the distance. If it wasn’t for their feud, who knows if either family would have obtained the wealth and status they have, perhaps that’s why this feud has stretched on for decades. If they kept arguing and fussing, more support was given and more money was stuffed in their pockets.

The guard stopped them, gripping his gun and approaching Arthur in the driver’s seat. The man looked up with his brows furrowed, his voice already drenched with suspicion. “What are you two doing? Mrs. Braithwaite said there’s no cargo going in or out and she isn’t expecting visitors.”

Sean leaned forward in the seat, an easy smile gracing his lips as a pale hand went to his bowler hat, bringing it down to his chest. “Sorry, friend, Braithwaite wanted us to haul some of her crops. Said it was for some sale? In Rhodes? She was quiet on the details if ya’ get what I mean.“ His finger slipped under his jacket, producing a piece of parchment, signed and dated. The paper was small, just a basic agreement to a certain Mr. Tavish to take some of his crops. The paper was passed over to Arthur and given to the man. He looked it over, muttering to himself of the contents.

“Your Mr. Tavish?” 

“Indeed sir, I am, the one and only ya’ see.”

The guard nodded, handing back the paper and stepping back. He allowed the two to go on their way and Arthur tugged on the reins, the horses continuing at a slow pace. Once they were out of view, down the right road and traveling over to the patch, Arthur was the first to speak.

“What was on that paper?” Arthur didn’t care to recite what Sean told him before, how they were going to try to strike a “deal” with Mrs. Braithwaite on her crops, seeing more use in whatever Sean had up his sleeve. Before Sean would respond, he laughed and produced a cocky smirk.

“Strauss wrote it for me, but I made the whole plan up. Pretty smart, isn’t it?” Sean leaned back against the seat with an air of confidence. Arthur mumbled under his breath and his eyes focused back on the road rather than on his boastful companion. Sean's eyes settled on the pumpkins, orange standing out amongst the greenery as if he was staring through a shop window. 

It made him reminisce on the time when he and his father picked up a couple of pumpkins, hauling them back to their homestead. Their table was covered with orange scraps, squares, and circles of orange clustered around them, the pumpkin guts sat in a bowl on the end of the table, ready to be cooked on the stove. Every autumn, it became a treat to eat pumpkin seeds and it was the first recipe Sean ever learned. Watching in anticipation as he gathered around the stove, seeing as his father stared down the seeds, meeting Sean with a smile whenever Sean became impatient.

This wasn't the time for longing on childhood memories and remembering a man who used to be by his side before the thought of death entered his subconscious before Sean knew what the feeling of grief, sorrow, and tragedy felt like and the effects it held. The wagon stopped, its wheels creaking, and Sean spared no time. He lunged himself over the barrier of the chair, landing onto the grass with the grace of a cat. His hands twitched just looking at the pumpkins, still held down by roots and vines that settled along the bottom.

Sean unsheathed his knife and went to town on the vines, cutting and snapping the barriers of the crop. Once he released one from its holdings, he passed it off to Arthur, who stared on with a look of uncertainty. Torn between the thought of asking Sean for a helping hand or allowing him to live in this moment and the smile that dawned on Sean’s features showed that very answer. 

At the end of the last row, four pumpkins were missing, their vines laying amongst the Earth only to be kicked away from view by the perpetrator himself. The trio only collected four pumpkins. Four wasn’t a large number, but for the art of stealing another’s crop, four could break someone’s finance. Rows of pumpkins still laid there, orange and ripe for harvesting, and the thought of getting caught never lingered on Sean’s mind. In Sean’s head, four pumpkins wasn’t a reason for concern, as the Braithwaites still had enough crop to choose from and make their money. Catharine might flush with anger for a moment, an annoyance of some thieves, but that was enough reason for Sean to steal from her. 

If she didn’t want Sean to steal from her, then maybe she should’ve treated him with an ounce of respect in that parlor room.

The wagon wheeled on, the sun casting an orange glow in the distance. As Arthur gripped the reins, he tried to be steady with his driving. Being reckless, like Sean’s might’ve as he sat grinning in his seat, wasn’t worth it in Arthur’s eyes for all the work Sean and Arthur had to go through. He had to admit, though, Sean did go a great deal on his own without Arthur’s help and it only appeared Arthur’s help was only temporary, being given the job of the hauler.

Arthur glanced over at Sean, eyes looking up at him under the brim of his leather hat. “You sure you want to rob a place? Get your hands on a gun and you might injure yourself.”

“If I don’t injure you first, English,” Sean chuckled and continued, his eyes scanning the overall area, latching onto whoever passed by. “I have a cool head, don’t worry about me.” Arthur was right in saying Sean’s heads were in the clouds. Even above the clouds, he would argue, completely over the moon with their recent spoils. He felt confident in his plan, Sean never would’ve gone along with it if he didn’t, but the guard was too dumb to notice the mistake Strauss made in every name listed, going to the extent of including a “te” after “Braith”. Of course, Sean being illiterate, he didn’t notice it either, but if that mishap was to be noticed -- Sean’s plan would crumble apart before stepping foot on their field.

Once the two got back to camp, the sky was a blanket of stars, and once the wheels rolled against the soil, dinner was called by Pearson. Sean and Arthur grabbed the pumpkins and Jack already was looking on towards the pair. His face was twisted in a look of confusion and awe as he saw Tilly and MaryBeth surround the table. Abigail called for Jack as she and John strolled over, metal bowls in hand and the warmth of the dish spread to their hands with a toasty feeling.

Sean smiled as he saw Jack come up between the couple, his hand clinging onto the end of John’s pants, his eyes filled with a look of awe. Sean stepped forward and lifted up Jack to a chair, pulling the orange squash to the edge of the table.

“This is a pumpkin. Every year, children carve it.” Sean cut a circle around the top, pulling off the place of the handle and letting it lay beside it. Sean pointed a slender finger towards the contents inside before grabbing Jack’s hand, allowing him to feel the inside mush. Jack retreated his hand, sticking his tongue out, and voicing his disgust. The feeling was nothing he has ever felt and the coldness of it made it even more disgusting. 

“What do you like to carve, Jackaboy?”

“A rabbit!” Jack gleefully shouted, his palms resting against the table, as a toothy smile crossing his lips with bright eyes staring up at Sean.

Sean grinned and sat in a seat next to him, his knife making quick work of the squash. First, he started with the ears, then traveled down to the bottom of the pumpkin for the feet and body. Lastly, he made the outlining of a face. The carving wasn’t perfect, a few jagged edges that made the feet more like crows feet than anything of a bunny, but Jack never noticed the difference. He sat up and wrapped his arms around it, thanking Uncle Sean for showing him such a wonderful tradition.

Ever since then, Jack would conclude that the orange hue of a pumpkin would be his favorite and due to Sean’s generosity, he would ask daily for another pumpkin for a solid week. After Arthur, Sean, Bill, and Micah made their venture out to Rhodes on that one morning, Jack would wake up to a carrot-colored squash sitting outside John’s tent.


End file.
